


Shot

by aravenwood



Series: Febuwhump '19 [26]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Hurt Tony Stark, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 03:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17931866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: Tony didn't scream as the bullet tore through his shoulder, but it was a close thing.Written for the Febuwhump '19 prompt "shot".





	Shot

**Author's Note:**

> Did I do an Avengers one yesterday? I did, didn't I? *checks* okay yeah I did. Meh. This one was begging to be written, ever since the amputation prompt. I really wanted to write what actually happened when Tony was shot and this is exactly it.
> 
> I don't normally write Tony whump. And normally when it is Tony whump, it is written for the purpose of Bruce angst. But this is actually Tony whump for the purpose of Tony whump, which is extremely surprising to come from me. 
> 
> Alas, enjoy!

Tony didn’t scream as a bullet tore through his shoulder, but it was a close thing. The force of the shot threw him to the ground, where he lay there with his hand clutching at the wound while he bit his lip in an attempt to stifle his cries – his shoulder was on fire, agony dancing along every tiny nerve fibre until he had no choice but to throw his head back and choke on the sobs which threatened to escape.

There were screams all around him. “Stark’s been shot!” “He’s dead!” “We’re all going to be killed!” The sort of desperate, fearful cries of people who had never been in this kind of situation and had no idea what to do or how to react. Among the screams came echoes of sobs and sirens. Even more hidden was a voice demanding people get out of the way, and then the same voice calling his name over and over until he tore his eyes from the bright sky above him.

His eyes found Happy crouched over him with a hand on his chest keeping him on the ground, while the other clutched his phone to his ear as he shouted orders over it. It was too easy to forget sometimes that Happy was a professional, that despite his name and his personality it was his job to protect people, and he was damn good at it. His eyes were narrowed as they twitched between the buildings around them, all tall enough for a sniper to hide on. That thought had Tony’s heart racing and his breaths shortening. If the sniper was still there, anyone could be shot in the crossfire. The crowd was essentially hysterical and as such, they were too unpredictable, even for a trained sniper. Anyone could die, and it would be all his fault.

Gasping for air and still trying to hold back tears, Tony pushed against Happy’s firm grip and struggled to sit up. Blood flooded down his arm and chest, soaking through his shirt and clinging to his skin. It was all over his neck, all over his hands, so much of it. So much blood, so much pain…his mind was drifting, dragging him back to moments he never wanted to relive, to an agony that topped even the excruciating pain of a bullet in his arm. His breaths were fast and short, the world fading around him, screams quieting to a voice in his ear. The hard floor of the stage became rough and grainy. Happy’s hand on his chest became an enemy, something to fear, and he threw himself backwards and away, scrambling across the cave floor until his back hit something behind him.

“No, no, please no. I’ll do it, please I’ll do whatever you want, just please stop -.”

“Tony.”

They’d never called him Tony – called him Stark, called him killer, called him bitch. But never Tony.

A hand touched his uninjured shoulder but dropped away as he flinched violently and tried to hide behind his knees. He squeezed his eyes tight shut, scrubbing at his cheeks as tears fell in thick streams. No crying, it was worse when he cried.

“Tony, come back. You’re not there, you’re in New York City. Do you remember that? You’re here and you’re safe, and I’m going to get you help. It’s going to be alright.”

That voice…so soft and gentle and unlike any of his captors. Without meaning to, Tony’s body loosened up; his head lifted and fell back against the wall behind him, his knees fell to the side. Finally he opened his eyes.

“Are you with me?” Happy asked, watching carefully with eyes filled with concern. His hands hovered in front of him, a need to touch but knowing that it wasn’t welcome, not right now. “Tony?”

Tony nodded slowly, his breaths slowing until he was gasping more from exhaustion than panic. He blinked lazily and surveyed his surroundings. The crowds were gone, held back by police officers who stood with their backs to the scene. Everything was quieter, the sobs and screams died down to mere whispers. But the eyes…the onlookers were staring at him with frightened eyes, all of them begging for…something.

“Help me up,” he croaked, shooting Happy a look that said that there would be no arguing. And to his credit, Happy did as he was told with not a single comment, although the expression on his face said so much more than words ever could. Tony chose to ignore it as he turned to face the crowd, Happy standing close by to offer his use as a crutch. Again Tony ignored him. He had to look strong.

“It’s alright!” he called in as loud a voice as he could muster. “I was the target, the rest of you are safe!” He shot the onlookers a too-large grin which hurt his cheeks, but it seemed to work because the crowd started to mutter, and then there was applause. Cheers. Whistles. Tony didn’t know exactly why it had happened, but it was a thousand times better than the anxious stares from before. He raised his good hand in a wave before turning away. The smile fell from his face almost immediately, replaced by a pained grimace.

Happy touched his good arm. “We’d better get you to a hospital,” he said softly.

“No! No hospitals!” Tony couldn’t deal with all of the strangers, all of the foreign touches, all of the questions and the noises and the stares. He needed home, he needed familiarity. He needed friends. “Please,” he whispered, “take me back to the Tower.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
